


The Science of Knitting

by BanimalQ



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Alpacas, Farmer John, Knitlock, Knitting, Sherlock Knitting, here's hoping for a cameo appearance of kilts, i won't apologize for this
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-02-21
Updated: 2016-09-04
Packaged: 2018-03-14 11:15:24
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 2,848
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3408527
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BanimalQ/pseuds/BanimalQ
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>John owns alpaca. Sherlock knits. Shenanigans ensue (or don't, I have no idea)</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Sunrise and Tea

**Author's Note:**

> I don't even know. This is what happens when you have a knitting crazy friend and a love for alpaca. I am terrible at writing plot and really just love to research my crazy ideas and then I write a bit about it. This may flesh out to be an actual story, but for now this is all I have.

It wasn’t that John was awake because of the nightmares. Honestly, he didn’t have full blown nightmares often anymore; often, though, there were nights when his mouth would begin to feel the grit of sand and when he awoke he swore he could detect the faint smell of blood. It was as if his subconscious would wake his body before his mind was transported fully back to Afghanistan. John’s fingers curled against his mug as he stood on his porch waiting for the sun to rise up over the eastern pastures. The farm would be waking as the suns first rays came up over the horizon so John didn’t mind this bit of time to himself, regardless of how he woke.

Time to himself wasn’t something he would be getting much of in the coming week. With shearing brought the extra hands to clean the alpacas before the shearing, the men who turned the shearing into a competition (complete with an old rugby trophy that someone had picked up at the secondhand shop in town), and John’s least favorite: the media.

It all happened quite by accident. John wasn’t meant to be shot, ending both his army and medical career. He didn’t plan on moving back to his grandparents farm in Scotland when he realized his pension wouldn’t cover even a bedsit for more than a couple of months in London. He didn’t expect Harry to get herself killed in a car accident leaving him more than his share of the inheritance from his parents passing. And John blamed sleep deprivation for the alpacas. The long and short of it was that the original alpaca belonged to his neighbor . . . and now he had a bloody alpaca herd with an international reputation!

Every summer the shearing would bring out journalist and tourists. People wanting to get a peek at the famous animals or wanting to watch the shearing competition. John had no use for it. He didn’t want fame, or money even. No, this was for him; a quiet life, hard work, beautiful product. He had taken on most of the work himself, hiring the bare minimum throughout the year and then the hands that were needed for the shearing. With his medical background he was able to take on most of the medical care that the herd needed. It wasn’t dangerous, adrenaline didn’t pump through his veins on a daily basis, but he was content. After being shot this was almost more than he could ask for. Another chance.

This year the shearing would be different though. Bigger than years before. More alpaca, more help, more media. All because of Sherlock bloody Holmes. Several years after moving to Scotland and building up his herd, John realized that there must be something other than a knitting revival happening to cause the demand that he was getting for his fleece. John called his distributor to ask about the growing demand, that was when he first heard the name Sherlock Holmes. A quick google search brought up The Science of Knitting; including an analysis of 243 types fibers and a critique of knitting techniques and tools and the poor results they produce when used by laymen (and most recently, a supposition of the effect of breeding on fleece composition in alpacas). What Sherlock Holmes was most known for though, were his fiber installations and haute couture. John didn’t understand any of it, but he was a farmer, not an artist. Each year Holmes’ demand for John’s fiber grew, and with that John’s own business and fame.

This morning Holmes would arrive at his farm and stay for the shearing, possibly longer as Holmes had indicated a desire to see a mating. John was not sure why he had agreed to this. This whole alpaca business was getting a bit out of control in his mind. But his friends and colleagues encouraged him to take the publicity while he could. So here he was, at four in the morning, waiting for the sun to rise and Sherlock Holmes to arrive.

Most of the extra hands were camping at the (infamous) neighbor’s house, who was now residing in town with her daughter, leaving the old farmhouse open for John to use during the shearing. Since the alpaca incident of 2003 John had been buying up plots of land between their homes, expanding his farm, one day he would probably buy the home too. The caterer he hired would already be up preparing breakfast that would be served at sunrise, right before the work began. This first breakfast of the week had become something of a tradition. A chance for everyone to get together before the work of the shearing began and everyone was bone tired. On Saturday they would invite the townsfolk to come and celebrate the end of the shearing with a big party, but this morning was for the farm.

John finished his tea and turned back into the house. This morning he would savor. He had no idea what the week would bring. But this morning would be for him and his closest friends. Men and women who he had known his whole life. People who loved this farm as much as he did. Whatever the week brought he could handle with his friends by his side.


	2. Mrs. Hudson

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> John meets Mrs. Hudson (and I'm still crap at summaries)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well, I was inspired by the interest in this story, so here's another chapter that I just cranked out this morning. Thank you for reading!

John entered the large tent that was already filled with his closest friends and the extra farm hands that had been hired for the shearing. He glanced around before heading over to the large table that held a large smorgasbord for the group. Standing behind it was a woman he had not seen before. She was petite and dressed to the nines in a deep purple dress under her apron, complete with smart pumps.

“I’m sorry, I don’t think that I know you? Have you started working for Cathy recently? I’m John Watson, owner of Rolling Meadows,” he inquired with a smile and an outstretched hand.

“Oh, no dear, I’m Martha Hudson, but you can just call me Mrs. Hudson. Sherlock sent me ahead to get things set up before he arrived.” The small woman seemed to be in constant movement as she talked, filling the serving platters as soon as they began to empty, almost out of thin air.

“I don’t understand, I hired Cathy in town for the week. She always takes care of the food for the shearing.” John already had enough of Sherlock Holmes and the week hadn’t even properly begun. It seemed the man was set to meddle in every part of the operation.

“Yes, that’s right. Sherlock took care of that. He prefers for me to come along with him to cook when he’s out of London for any length of time. And don’t worry, he’s compensated the local caterer for the trouble.”

There was no point in taking his frustration out on the woman ( _Mrs. Hudson,_ his mind corrected). No doubt she had her own stories to tell if Holmes was anything like he had come across to John without even meeting the man.

“Well,” he said turning to take a plate for his own breakfast, “there’s not much I can say about it now. Tell me, is he always like this? Taking over before he even shows up?”

“He certainly likes to have things the way he likes, that’s true. But don’t worry, Sherlock . . . well, he’s Sherlock, you’ll see. Just keep an open mind.” Mrs. Hudson was filling John’s plate as she talked then took him by the elbow and steered him towards the tables set in the middle of the tent. “Now, go on and eat your breakfast, I understand you have a long week ahead of you.”

John had little choice but to follow Mrs. Hudson’s instructions. He found a place at a table with Mike Stamford, the local veterinarian, and several others who had lived in town and who John counted as his closest friends. These four were the responsible party for convincing John to allow Sherlock Holmes to come for the shearing. He wasn’t one to make judgements before having all the facts (even though he felt he had facts enough about Sherlock Holmes from this little display of power of the food situation), so as talk turned to the famous artists arrival John turned his mind to his breakfast and the schedule for the week.

The weather forecasted was ideal for shearing. It had been dry enough to keep the herd from getting too muddy, and John was fastidious about keeping his pastures clean of excessive debris, ensuring that the blankets would be as clean as possible. The whole process had become quite streamlined over the years, with several crews that had a broad range of experience which allowed for even the youngest to aid in the event. In addition to the shearing, Stamford and his crew would be taking care of any medical concerns and in depth grooming that needed to occur. While John knew that the week would go smoothly, he could not ignore the bit of nerves he felt over the added attention Holmes and the media would bring.

Sarah caught John’s attention and brought him out of his head. They had met when John moved to the old family farm. She had offered him a job at the local surgery that she ran in town, but John knew that he couldn’t return to being a GP. They had become friends over the years and she always assisted Stamford during the shearing.

“Relax, John, this will be just like any other year. The interview you had to give to _The Daily Express_ was probably more painful than having to deal with this lot from London. Just call on "Captain Watson" if you feel they are stepping over any boundaries. And remember that we are right here behind you.”

John knew Sarah was right, that was a bloody awful interview, he still couldn’t face the local reporter without his blood pressure rising. And he was aware of the publicity that not just Rolling Meadows would get, but the entire town. The local hotel was booked full and he knew that several of the locals had rented out rooms. Over the years the town had started hosting events throughout the week, it was almost like a festival. Local artisans set up temporary shops and restaurants served special meals. This was ultimately why John had agreed to the media circus that Sherlock Holmes would bring; he loved his home and the people he considered his family.

With another glance around the tent, John saw that everyone was gathered. He stood and tapped on his glass to get everyones attention. He couldn’t help but smile at the familiar faces that turned to him. This moment was why John had started this tradition. It was his keepsake for the week; the moment he returned to when tired at the end of the day.

“Here we are again, friends. When I took that silly old alpaca off of Mrs. Stewart, I never imagined that I would own a herd of alpaca and such an amazing group of friends and colleagues to help in the most important week of the year for Rolling Meadows. I know I am feeling some nerves about the media coverage that Mr. Holmes will be bringing our event, and I imagine some of you may be too. Just remember throughout all of this, that I am thankful for each one of you and I am proud of the work that you do. Now, let’s finish up breakfast and get this week started! I’ll see you in the north pasture at half six.”

The group started moving, some people coming up to shake John’s hand, others taking advantage of the still hot food and coffee before they left the tent. John was just finishing up his cup of tea when a sleek black car pulled into the drive, followed by two black SUVs. It seemed the star of the show had arrived just in time.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> You can find my rantings on all things Sherlock on my [blog](https://fanlock.wordpress.com/2015/02/01/for-the-taking/) or the [tumblr](https://www.tumblr.com/blog/sosicksobeautiful) account that I barely know how to work. And when I say "all things" I really mean a small slice of what I deem obsession worthy and am productive enough to rant about
> 
> Fuck work, read fanfic.


	3. The Arrival

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Short and sweet, Sherlock arrives and John is surprised by the man he meets

Time seemed to still. Tea cup paused mid air, mouth slightly open, eyes glued to the scene unfolding in front of him. The vehicles had barely stopped when all the doors opened and a flurry of activity began. It all seemed to center around a very tall man, his pale skin a contrast to dark (and very fit) suit and curly hair and an equally gorgeous woman. So, this is Sherlock Holmes, John thought. He should have done more than read the dry research on Holmes’ website, The Science of Knitting. He could have at least looked for a photo of the man; it would have prepared him a bit better for the sight in front of him. John realized he was gaping like a fish moments before the man holding his attention turned towards him. With a wave of his hand the people surrounding Sherlock took a step back and he began to walk towards John.

“Hello, Mr. Holmes,” John said as he stood to shake hands. “I’m John Watson, owner of Rolling Meadows.”

“Sherlock, please,” he paused, his eyes darting over every inch of John, who fell into parade rest. It took all of his military training not to fidget under such intense scrutiny. “I am not easily surprised, but I was expecting an old farmer not an army doctor. You were invalided out of service, a bullet wound to the shoulder if I’m not mistaken, and I rarely am. Given the amount they dole out for a pension it’s not surprising you couldn’t afford living in London, even a bedsit would have been too much for that pittance. But how did you get up here, in the country with alpacas? Oh, this is a family farm, an inheritance, though the alpacas are your addition. It must be quite dull after invading Afghanistan.”

Sherlock finished stood still, his gaze focusing just over John’s shoulder. The crowed that had formed behind John as the interaction took place stilled too. John took a deep breath, his mouth opening to respond, then closing again. He steeled his face and straightened his back.

“That was . . . amazing. Truly extraordinary. How did you know all of that? Did my distributor tell you all that?” A broad smile stretched across John’s face as he looked from Sherlock to the group around him.

“No one told me, I deduced it. The clues are all there for anyone to observe if they put forth any effort,” Sherlock replied. Though they just met, John thought that Sherlock looked a bit smug at having impressed John, though he tried to hide it behind an arrogant mask. John didn't have time to ask anything else as just then Mrs. Hudson came bustling out of the tent.

“Sherlock! You made it!” she said as she wrapped him in a hug. 

“Of course I made it, it’s not as if we had to traverse to the continent,” Sherlock said with a fond smile.

“Come and let me make you a plate, you wouldn’t want to have a sulk later because your blood sugar drops.” 

“Mrs. Hudson! I do not — “

“Of course not, dear,” she interrupted, ushering both men back into the tent. “I’m sure Mr. Watson wouldn’t mind another cup of tea while he tells you the schedule. Just this once, mind you, I’m not your waitress.” She gave John a wink as she walked back to the buffet tables, leaving them to find a seat. Most of those who arrived with Sherlock began to get food for themselves, though the woman who had arrived in Sherlock’s car came over to sit with them.

“John, this is Irene Adler, my agent and publicist,” Sherlock.

John called over the crew leaders and Bill Murray who was acting as foreman for the week. He made the introductions and gave a brief description of their jobs. Sherlock would be able to watch each step in depth, but he wanted the man to have an idea of what to expect beforehand.

Sherlock, while not overly friendly, was courteous and made inquiries when something piqued his interest. John hadn’t been sure what to expect from the artist, nor had he been certain of the purpose of Sherlock being at the farm for the shearing other than a publicity stunt. Now John saw that Sherlock had an real interest in the process. He made mental notes to get more detailed information for the man, it would fill in the questions he was bound to have watching. 

“Now, if you don’t mind, I’ll have Bill go over the schedule. I’m due out at the pasture in five minutes and this week every minute counts.” And with that, John walked out of the tent and over to his ATV.

The impression that John got from meeting Sherlock Holmes was very different from the one he had just an hour earlier. While he was under no illusions that Sherlock could be an arrogant bastard, he knew that there was more to discover about the man. This might not turn out to be such a terrible week.

**Author's Note:**

> You can find my rantings on all things Sherlock on my [blog](https://fanlock.wordpress.com/2015/02/01/for-the-taking/) or the [tumblr](https://www.tumblr.com/blog/sosicksobeautiful) account that I barely know how to work. And when I say "all things" I really mean a small slice of what I deem obsession worthy and am productive enough to rant about
> 
> Fuck work, read fanfic.

**Works inspired by this one:**

  * [John Watson in a kilt](https://archiveofourown.org/works/3689166) by [a_solitary_cyclist](https://archiveofourown.org/users/a_solitary_cyclist/pseuds/a_solitary_cyclist)




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